


No, I'm serious this time! (Well, maybe not)

by MarcyBel



Category: Arsenic and Old Lace (1944)
Genre: AU where Johnny and the doctor got away and wreaked more havoc I guess, M/M, Murder men, codependancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-17 04:29:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16967697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarcyBel/pseuds/MarcyBel
Summary: Jonathan Brewster can't understand how things had spiraled out of his control so quickly. Or, he's in love.





	No, I'm serious this time! (Well, maybe not)

Things had gone too far. It was unprecedented. Strange new terrain to transverse, like the early days where the doctor and himself fumbled about blindly with death and left behind evidence. Murder got steadily easier of course, and now they were so well acquainted with homicide Jonathan had to suppress the urge to get cocky. To think of going ahead and killing his theatre-frequenting, annoyingly likable, soon-to-be-married brother without consequence was foolish. Nothing he'd never felt before had impaired his judgement in that moment, (hatred and other types of strong dislike for his brother were to be expected) however. This new, frightening development on the other hand... Jonathan Brewster couldn't recall being afraid before, not even once as a child. He made other people afraid. That's what he was best at. Like the way some people were born musically gifted. Blood, guts and death didn't scare him, so what else could? 

The doctor remained remained blissfully unaware of the crisis at hand. Herman Einstein went about his business as usual. He drank his ridiculous requirements regarding alcohol with a chipper grin, hummed contentedly to himself when they weren't on the run, and frequented his partner's side day after day with a serene disposition. A mouse that had grown too used to a cat in the house, and soon began to see it as a companion. 

He opened the doors to the safe house and ushered the doctor in with one hand. Herman locked the door behind him obediently without even thinking. This time, instead of pacing and turning the place upside down like he usually did when he was visibly upset, Jonathan sat himself down in an arm chair, brows furrowed with an ominous concentration. Next he offered the doctor a seat and a smoke to which Herman accepted. After lighting himself a cigarette, he relaxed back in his chair and said nothing. Einstein, across the room, hardly noticed his friend's stormy mood. He thought of other things. Namely the exact method he was going to reconstruct Jonathan Brewster's face in surgery the next day; what handsome contours he could dream up to redeem himself after the unfortunate mess he'd made of it all last time. As their silence spun on, Herman found himself wondering, with a cautious glance to Jonathan, about the sort of depraved, blood-splattered, and inexorably violent plans his partner in crime was mulling over at that very moment in their amicable silence. An unpleasant thought if there was one. He decided to give up thinking for the evening, opting instead to fumble for the bottle of schnapps in his pocket, finishing his cigarette with a frown.

Being forced into a nervous and high strung disposition when they were constantly being chased down doggedly by enforcers of the law was no easy temperament to hold onto. It left him tired, and with an aching need for rest in a warm bed and for some good food the next morning. In an effort to get these wonderful prospects in motion, he reached for the suitcase by his side and began routing through clothes distractedly for some sort of suitable night wear. 

“I'm going to kill you, doctor." Jonathan finally announced. His voice was low and decidedly convincing. Yes. Good. It didn't matter if he'd be left alone without a new face, with a body on his hands. He'd decided the doctor was the source of all his upset, the embodiment his worldly problems and the uncharacteristic thoughts he'd been having as of recent. It was imperative to shake these... Feelings before they got the upper hand and did him in. The easiest way to do that was getting rid of his constant companion once and for all, he rationalized.

Herman let out an amused little giggle in response, his back turned to the man. Jonathan realized with a dawning horror that the simple sound was...endearing.  
"Oh, ja, sure, Johnny." 

It irked him that the doctor seemed more preoccupied with fiddling with a button on his coat than taking heed of his own declaration. It was an important declaration too. Life changing. Jonathan Brewster cursed the concept of familiarity for letting the alarming threat of murder slip by unnoticed.

He stood up abruptly, beginning to pace again, and then stopped himself. He strode across the room to stand directly in front of Herman instead. He loomed over the man, cutting a menacing figure. 

"You're... No longer as useful as I expected, doctor. Becoming dead weight. Nothing personal, you understand." On the contrary. It was personal. Very much so.

"I am thinking, I'll go to sleep now, Johnny. Maybe." Herman stretched and yawned, unhearing and oblivious, patting his partner on the arm in an oddly domestic move. He seemed to have hardly registered Jonathan's words, barely noticed the change in the air, making to step around the man in favor of slipping into a rickety bed. 

The doctor paused when he felt the point of a knife pressing urgently to his collarbone, pulled deftly from Jonathan's pocket. The blade glinted in the lamp lit room. Herman let out a surprised yip, and then promptly groaned.  
  
"Oh please, put that down, Johnny. Mein Gott! You almost frightened me, you know." Frightened him? Frightened him! It pained Jonathan to see that his cleverly orchestrated tactics (which had always worked on their victims) were being thrown aside like old, worn out jokes. He grimaced, working up the willpower to kill the doctor, so as to show him he was entirely serious about the whole thing. 

Herman took a moment to note the dark shadows underneath his partner's eyes, one hand poised in mid air as if the observation had caught him off guard. The slumped, exasperated stance. Was it him, or did Johnny seem more brooding than usual?

"You look tired, Johnny. Why don't you come to bed too?" He took a step forward, gazing at the criminal imploringly.

With one unthinking move, the doctor had wiped out all opposition. Delivered a killing blow before the fight had begun. That suggesting voice. Those big eyes. Jonathan considered his options, now that his thought process had been severed. His arm, without his permission, made the decision for him and flung the blade away before his brain had anything more to say in the matter. 

Damn it all! The hold he had on him. And he didn't even know. 

They retired to bed, and Jonathan made a last ditch attempt to throttle the doctor, which Herman mistook as foreplay.

Killing the only thing he was fond of was proving harder than expected.


End file.
